What Happened to Beatrice
by Vivian Kain
Summary: One word for you: Beatrice.
1. The Stranger and the Eye

**Author's Note that doesn't really serve a purpose**  
No, I do not own the Baudelaires, the talented Mr. Lemony Snicket, or the elusive Beatrice, unfortunately for me. But I suppose the whole purpose of this fanfiction is to pretend for one blissful moment that I am somehow involved with these timeless characters. (SIGH) Oh, and just a side note, I hate paragraphing and I'm terrible at it, so I just broke this up in order to make it easier to read, it's not done well and I know it. That said, on with the show!  
  
  
For Mr. Snicket, my heart grows fonder as your books grow better.  
  
Beatrice stopped what she was doing and stared into the mirror. Unfortunately for us, we have no clue what she saw there because none of us know what she looks like. She moved her hands up to her hair (assuming she does have some) and clipped it back in an attractive style, away from her face (I hope she has one of those too.) Tonight was the night. He was going to propose tonight! She was going to be the someone's fiancée, a phrase which here means "engaged to be married", a phrase which here means "she was going to be tricked into making a contract that bound her to another person for a very long time."   
  
Jacques Snicket stepped into Beatrice's bedchamber, smiling admiringly at her.   
  
"You look beautiful," he told her.  
"Thank you," Beatrice told him formally, although we have no way of knowing if what Jacques was saying was indeed true, as details concerning Beatrice's facial features continue to elude us all.  
  
She twirled around, her skirt flaring out around her. She was wearing pantyhose, but they were transparent enough for one to see the tattoo of an eye on her ankle. Jacques had one too. All of their friends did. Beatrice grabbed Jacques's hand and skipped down the stairs, smiling so hard her face felt like it was about to crack. Jacques was skipping too, but then he realized that he wasn't quite in the mood for such a gay type of walking, and he stopped.   
  
His sudden discontinuation of this movement caused Beatrice to stumble and nearly fall, which would have been an unthinkable catastrophe. Jacque folded his arms as Beatrice checked her mysterious appearance in the mirror again and again. He felt jealousy writhing out of control in his stomach. Beatrice belonged to his brother, and he had never been able to figure out what the illustrious Lemony seemed to have that was so special. Beatrice always said that Lemony's name reminded her of the cleaning agents she used in her small little kitchen, but Jacques couldn't understand why that would make Lemony so special. All he had to do was change his name to Limey, and he too would have a spring-fresh name. He sighed again as Beatrice nervously patted the hair that we hope she had back in to place.   
  
Just then, Lemony walked in backwards, his face hidden under a wide-brimmed hat and his body swathed in a long trench coat. Jacques supposed that Lemony and Beatrice had a very good relationship, as no one knew what either of them looked like. Beatrice walked around to the other side of Lemony and gave him a kiss on the nose, which made him giggle.   
Just as Lemony was getting ready to escort Beatrice out the door, there was a knock on it. Beatrice pulled it open, and a dramatic gust of wind rustled the clothing of the person on the doorstep. He too was hidden from view, and Jacques was getting sick of his face being the only naked one. The man on the doorstep had on a gator, as though he were going skiing, and an extremely neat crop of dark hair. His dark eyebrows were knitted together into one, and beneath them were sparkling blue eyes, full of humor and warmth.   
  
"Excuse me," he said in a syrupy voice. "I'm looking for the V.F.D. Have I come to the right place?"   
  
Beatrice found her voice first, smiling at the stranger.   
  
"Why yes. Have you sought us out in order to become a part of our noble organization?"   
  
The stranger nodded, smiling beneath his gator, even though no one could see it.   
  
"I wish to help this group in any way that I possibly can, and I would like to start by joining. How must I go about my initiation?"   
  
"There's really nothing to it," Beatrice promised him. "Just swear an oath to be eternally loyal to us, and get a little tattoo on your ankle. See?" She held up her foot for him to examine, and he took it gingerly, eyeing the eye.   
  
"Does it hurt to get a tattoo?" He asked, sounding quite nervous, not at all like the evil and cold-hearted man he would one day become.   
  
"Not really. Mine got infected and I couldn't walk for about six months because of the swelling, but it was well worth it," Beatrice assured him, smiling.   
  
Jacques sniffed the air. What was that smell? Then he realized what it was. It was the smell of a brand new attraction, and it was coming from the adoring look in Beatrice's eyes, which was magnified tenfold when the stranger removed the obstructing gator.   
  
"My name is Olaf Augustus, Count of El Ojo," he told her grandly, planting a debonair kiss on her presumably pretty hand. Beatrice blushed, meeting the stranger's beautiful eyes with her own. He grinned widely, and Lemony was beginning to smell the same thing his brother Jacques had sensed only moments before. He attempted to usher Beatrice out the door, but the damage had already been done.   
  
"My name is Beatrice," she told the man, not volunteering a last name because as far as we know she doesn't have one. "If you would like to stay here in humble V.F.D. for the night, I could make up a bed for you," she offered, batting the eyelashes I'm presumptuously assuming she did indeed possess.   
  
Lemony was seething, a phrase which here means "was very angry that the stranger had ever come to V.F.D. because he was trying to steal Beatrice from him." Beatrice and Lemony didn't go on their date that night, and secretly Jacques was glad. Even though he knew he could not compete with the mysterious Count of El Ojo, at least his lemon-fresh younger brother couldn't have her either. It wasn't long before Beatrice and the dashing Count were seen everywhere together around V.F.D. If you found one, you found the other. Besides a few bad feelings between the Snicket brothers and the newest member of V.F.D., there was no harm done. That is, until the day that Esme Squalor, whose name was Esme Rifflebean back in those days, came to V.F.D. and destroyed everything the members of that righteous organization had worked so hard to achieve.   
  
**Alrighty guys, let me know what you think and if you would appreciate a continuation, which would include my thoughts on Beatrice, the identity of V.F.D., and the role of Esme Squalor and Count Olaf in the death of the Baudelaire parents. Hope you enjoyed! 


	2. Jacques's Plans

I fear I can barely continue this sad tale, as the events which follow from this point until the end are so packed with misery and woe that I can scarcely believe it real. Even as I sit here with only my typewriter in the highest room of the north tower of the castle of the Duke of Ipswich, I feel the sadness of this story closing in all around me. The tale of the Baudelaire children is sad, that is true, but the tale of the Baudelaire parents, the luminous Beatrice, and the dastardly Count Olaf of El Ojo may just prove to be the saddest and most miserable of all. But, the hour grows late, and I must finish this portion of their terrible tale in time to think of a way to escape before the Duke has summoned his men to take my head.   
  
It all started the night that the Count of El Ojo, now an official member of V.F.D., asked his dear friend Beatrice to accompany him to the theater. "Theater has always been a passion of mine, and there's going to be a little production by a local theater troupe downtown," Olaf told the blushing beauty. And, not knowing any better, Beatrice accepted his offer.  
  
Lemony Snicket had been growing more and more jealous and the friendship between the mysterious Count and his girlfriend blossomed, and he had nearly reached the cracking point. He had almost sunk so low as to ask his brother Jacques for help, but he knew that would only serve to complicate things further.  
  
For his part, Jacques was staying in the background, observing Beatrice and the Count from afar, biding his time, making his plans. Although most people associated with V.F.D. had friends only within the group, Jacques had made it his business to know as many people outside the circle as possible, and it seemed that his friendships had paid off. Esme Rifflebean was a fabulously wealthy up-and-coming actress, and she would be appearing in the play "Eyes on You" by the playwright Tao Floc Nu, a popular Asian writer. Coincidentally, this also happened to be the play that Olaf and the lovely Beatrice were going to see on the evening of The Trouble. Esme just happened to be one of those people whose friendship was going to come in handy.   
  
"Why darling, I've never heard of anyone named Count Olaf Augustus of El Ojo, and I've heard of nearly everyone," she had told him on the phone the night before the start of The Trouble.   
  
Esme, at this point in her life, just happened to be the city's ninth most important theatrical contributor, and she had a rather big head about it. Jacques chose to ignore her comment and continued.  
  
"But you will go through with the plan, right?" He asked her urgently. He looked over his shoulder nervously. One might think that this was because he did not want his nasty plans to be overheard, but that person would be wrong, because he was wearing a pair of lacy pink underpants, and he didn't want anyone to walk in on him while he was getting dressed. It was, of course, laundry day, as Jacques was very masculine and would not have worn lacy pink panties in a normal situation. This would explain his nervousness, and also why he continued to look over his shoulder until he had his pants securely fastened.  
  
"I would do anything to help you, dear, but I don't quite understand what you want me to do," Esme purred. Jacques couldn't see her, but Esme looked quite sophisticated that evening. She was dressed in the latest fashion, a long purple dress with a bunch of sparkly sequins. She moved her hand, which was holding a martini, this way and that, admiring the diamond ring she had forced her fiancée, Jerome, to purchase for her.   
  
"If you don't buy me a ring and propose to me, you can forget me making you macaroni and cheese ever again!" She had threatened, and Jerome had known she was serious. And as he liked macaroni and cheese very much, while not having the faintest inkling of how to make it himself, he did as Esme had asked. Esme had been elated, a phrase which here means "was very happy that her status as the city's ninth most important theatrical contributor and her ability to make macaroni and cheese had gotten her an expensive ring and a handsome fiancée." Esme had even bought him his own sparkly sequined purple dress to show her appreciation. She couldn't have her future husband looking so horribly out of style, could she?  
  
"I need you to detain this Count person," Jacques whispered to her. One might think he was whispering because he did not want his dastardly dealings to be overheard, but that person would be wrong, because he simply had a sore throat from singing along too loudly to the V.F.D. theme song that morning at breakfast. Normally, Jacques didn't sing very loud, but he had been in a very good mood that morning, and besides he just felt like singing. This would explain why he was whispering as he spoke over the phone to the future Esme Squalor.  
  
"Yes, yes, darling but how?" Esme sipped her martini loudly. Slurping was "in."   
  
Jacques rolled his eyes at the phone, which really served no purpose as Esme could not see him.  
  
"I don't care how you do it, Esme. Beatrice is very important to me and I don't like this Count Omar one single whit, not one whit!" Jacques whined. Esme smiled deviously.  
  
"Don't worry dear, I promise, it will be taken care of," Esme assured him, smiling deviously. She hung up. Just then, I shudder to say, one of Esme's fellow actresses entered Esme's dressing room. She made her way cautiously over to Esme, who was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bare room with her hair in rollers, clutching the telephone. Furniture was "out." This dastardly thespian extended a hand to help her friend off the floor, using the other hand to pat more powder on her already white face.  
  
"Esme, you must hurry, it's nearly time for the dress rehearsal."  
  
"Yes I know, I'm coming," Esme told the powder-faced woman.  
  
Esme picked up her belongings and began to follow the woman, but she was quickly joined by none other than her future husband, Jerome.   
  
"Good evening darling. You look absolutely wonderful," said Jerome, admiration evident in his face.   
  
"I know," Esme told him. "Listen Jerome, there's something I'm going to need your help with. My dear friend Jacques needs my help distracting some Count who is supposedly attending our show tomorrow night. Can you find out where he's going to be seated in the audience?"  
  
Jerome, who didn't want to miss out on his nightly macaroni and cheese, nodded nervously. "I'm sure I could sweetpea. Do you know the name the reservation is under?"  
  
"Yes, dear, Jacques told me. It's not the name of the Count, it's under the name of some other V.F.D. Riffraff. Oh, what was it again?"  
  
Esme snapped her fingers several times, trying to force herself to remember as she followed Jerome to his office, where he kept the computer. He brought up the reservation file and gazed expectantly at his fiancée. Finally, her mouth formed an O as she remembered the name.  
  
"Baudelaire," she told Jerome confidently. "The Count and his date are coming with a couple by the name of Baudelaire." 


	3. The Daily Punctilio

**A/N: Thank you oodles and bunches for all the lovely reviews I've received for this attempt at a fanfiction. I intend to continue this story, and I'm actually getting pathetically involved with it…I probably won't be posting for awhile because I'm trying to re-read the books and am taking notes on anything related to Beatrice, Jacques, Lemony, the Baudelaire parents, and V.F.D. I thought I'd move the story along just a little bit though, so enjoy this while it lasts! Lol I'll try to finish rereading soon so I can finish this. R/R if you feel so inclined. **  
  
Although it may not seem so, there is a very big difference between being right and being almost right. For example, if there was a ferocious man-eating spider monkey outside your apartment and waiting to pounce on the first person that left your room, and you told your roommate that there was a spider monkey outside, you would be almost right. But, as you can see, being almost right could have tragic consequences. If perhaps your roommate was in desperate need of a new broomstick handle and went out into the hall to find one, thinking that the spider monkey was harmless, and was immediately devoured, the fact that you had been almost right when you described the obstacle wouldn't count for much. So it was with Esme's interpretation that the reservation of seats for the performance of "Eyes on You". In actuality, she was only almost right when she told her macaroni and cheese loving fiancée that there was a couple by the name of Baudelaire. Well, I suppose you could say she was half right, because half of that couple WAS named Baudelaire.   
  
Mr. Baudelaire was extremely handsome and wealthy, but he wasn't yet married to the woman he was taking to the play with the dastardly Count and his lovely friend Beatrice. The future Mrs. Baudelaire was also young, beautiful, and wealthy, and she was very anxious to start a family with her handsome fiancée. She had always wanted to have three children, and it was her dream to always keep them safe from any kind of misery and woe for as long as they lived.   
  
Unfortunately, you and I know that her dreams were dashed on that fateful day when people that the Baudelaires had once called friends set fire to their home. On the night of the play, the four V.F.D. members were all giddy with excitement, a phrase which here means "very happy to be safe and happy in each other's company for the duration of the evening." Or at least, it started out that way.  
  
"Beatrice, may I speak to you?"   
  
Beatrice turned to see who had spoken and saw the kindly face of Jacques Snicket in the doorway of her dressing chamber.   
  
At this point, I feel I must explain something. The Jacques that Beatrice saw the night of the horrible play that set in motion the events that would end her life almost 15 years later looked nothing like the Jacques that the Baudelaire children would one day see being persecuted by a bunch of fowl devotees in a vile village. This Jacques had two eyebrows, instead of one, and the tattoo of an eye on his ankle signified his unending devotion to a noble cause, not his status as a Count Olaf look alike.   
  
Speaking of Count Olaf, he chose to walk in right at that very moment and spoil any chances Jacques might have had to tell Beatrice of his undying love, as well as his suspicion of the Count.   
  
"Beatrice, my dear, you look absolutely lovely!" Olaf cried with glee. I feel I should also add, at this point, that the Olaf that Beatrice saw that night was also a different Olaf than the greedy, evil man the Baudelaire orphans had come to know so well.   
  
The Olaf of Beatrice's time had a heart not caked with greed and malice and bitter hurt, but with purity and willingness to help others. He still had one eyebrow, and not two, which was an unattractive trait to say the least, but his kind heart and handsome face more than made up for it. He wasn't quite as scrawny as he was the day he opened the door and admitted three trembling orphans into his home, and he was dressed impeccably, a phrase which here means "in very fancy clothes that were appropriate for a function such as a play, and were meant to impress Beatrice."  
  
"Why thank you, Count!" Beatrice squealed, putting her hands in his. You may be wondering now just what exactly was going on with Beatrice and the dear Count, and what had happened to poor old Lemony, her beau of a good many years. The truth is, it is a very sensitive subject for everyone involved, as it seemed that Beatrice was slowly falling for the charming Count, although she continued to refer to Lemony as her boyfriend. Only time would reveal the true dealings of Beatrice's fickle heart.  
  
It was at that precise moment that Mr. Baudelaire breezed into the dressing chamber, looking very dapper and followed by his utterly beautiful fiancée. Jacques slipped out of the room quietly, and the worst part is that Beatrice did not even seem to notice.  
  
"We better get a move on," Mr. Baudelaire said to his three companions. "According to the Daily Punctilio, the play starts in a little more than an hour, and I believe we were planning on dinner first."  
  
"The professional play reviewer in the Daily Punctilio said that the play was absolutely marvelous," the future Mrs. Baudelaire added with a smile.  
  
"And I saw the restaurant reviewer's article that said the restaurant where we plan to eat is simply superb," threw in Beatrice.  
  
"The front page article in the Daily Punctilio was about the man that wrote the play, and he sounds like a genius. He lost his leg in a fire as a young child and ate only chicken enchiladas for three years in a row," Count Olaf told them all in awe.  
  
Mistrust is a word that is used quite frequently in books. The main character usually mistrusts someone who turns out to be a thief or perhaps a murderer. Women usually mistrust their cheating spouses, and sometimes restaurant patrons mistrust their waiters and ask for their check a little too quickly. I myself am very mistrustful of the very thin wire cord that is suspending a large purple hippopotamus only feet above my head as I type this, and I am also very mistrustful of the evil circus clown at the other end of the wire holding a scissors. Count Olaf, the Baudelaires, and Beatrice had no reason to mistrust the Daily Punctilio. They trusted that the time of the play was correct, they trusted that the play would be fantastic, they trusted that the restaurant would be wonderful, and they trusted the fact that the playwright really was disabled and obsessed with Mexican food.   
  
However, I'm sad to say, mistrust would have been more appropriate regarding any article found in the Daily Punctilio. But after all those years of trusting it, Beatrice would one day trust the writers of the Daily Punctilio when she shouldn't have, and it would ruin her relationship with the man called Lemony Snicket forever. 


	4. Adorable Author's Note

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
  
As a devout fan of the wonderful "A Series of Unfortunate Events", I was forced to dash to a bookstore near me recently and purchase "Lemony Snicket: The Unauthorized Biography", which is, of course, about our favorite Baudelaire Biographer. Upon reading the book, I discovered that some of my assumptions were incorrect (The people of V.F.D. were chosen and kidnapped at a young age, they did not join the group as adults. Esme and Jerome were married after only one night together, and Jerome owned the 667 Dark Avenue Penthouse before he married Esme), that some of them were correct (Esme was, in fact, an actress at the time my story takes place), and I also uncovered tidbits I didn't know (Jerome and Jacques were close friends, and Jacques is the one who told Jerome to buy the penthouse in the first place, and Esme and Count Olaf [aka Al Funcoot] had been in league for quite some time). Anyway, I have decided to do one of two things:  
  
A) Continue my story the way I first intended it to be written.  
B) Rework it so that the plotline makes sense. (This option will take a tid bit longer than the former.)  
  
Let me know what you think would be the best solution to this little dilemma, and keep reading and writing all!  
  
"The World is Quiet Here."  
~ViV~ 


End file.
